


Sum Total

by shimadagans



Category: Destiny (Video Games), Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bending Lore to its Breaking Point, Crossover, Multi, Slow Burn, gays in space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimadagans/pseuds/shimadagans
Summary: The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Or, that's what everybody keeps telling Felix. If only he could get them all to just let him do his patrols to 'protect humanity' or whatever in peace.The FE3H/Destiny AU that absolutely nobody asked for. Sylvix kinda slow burn, many other characters present, some other relationships may appear.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 1





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Alright alright alright, let's see what we've got:  
> I'm trying to keep pretty close to Destiny's lore but I'm bending things like major in-game events to have a different...flavor. I'll try my best to ensure this fic can be read without prior knowledge of Destiny. There are no major spoilers for either game, but certain plot points will major events in either universe. First chapter is all about Felix rising, so nobody else just yet. For folks who have played both, Felix mirrors Ana Bray just a bit.

When he wakes for the first time, he doesn’t know…much of anything, really. He catches a flash of warm, then cold as air rushes past his face in his haste to sit upright. He knows he has hands, and presumably eyes, still.

Still?

A motion in front of his face startles him into action, and he jumps to his feet and grabs the nearest object—a spent fire extinguisher—to defend himself with.

“Whoa, hey,” comes a slightly tinny voice from the weird-floating-geometric-robot-thing that he’d been ready to strike, “I’m not here to hurt you. Actually, I kind of, uh, woke you up?” It spins its front facing frame in a way he thinks is supposed to be reassuring.

He stares the robot-thing down, assessing, and when he’s more than half sure it won’t attack him so long as he doesn’t attack it, he slowly lowers the extinguisher. He goes to speak but getting air through his lungs and throat takes him a little longer than he wants. While he’s struggling to form words, damn it, the damned robot speaks again, “Hey, I don’t mean to push you too hard but,” the robot swivels mid-air, and he finds himself a bit unnerved by the movement, “It’s uh. Not really safe here. I can answer any questions on the way, but we need to get moving.”

It’s only now that he takes a moment to survey his surroundings, and he immediately wants to sit back down. It’s the remains of what looks like a lab of some sort, but its hard to tell exactly what it was used for because the entire cavernous room they’re in has been absolutely wrecked. The concrete walls and ceiling have been blasted apart in several places, and there are bits and pieces of destroyed electronics here and there. Scorch marks litter the space, and several other extinguishers lie about, covered in blackened dust. His eyes are drawn to the one door he can see, and there lies a slew of muddled shapes, which he immediately approaches despite the little robot’s exclamation.

Bodies. A dozen or so, wearing lab coats and hazmat-style suits. He gets close enough to see that many of them are contorted into shapes that make him wretch, and he stumbles to the side to dry heave, leaning against a bit of wreckage.

“Hey,” comes the robot’s voice again, softer this time, “Sorry, we really need to go.”

He’s not sure what exactly they’re apologizing for, or why he decides to listen, but he finally forces his voice out through his teeth, grainy and rough to his ears, “Where?”

At this, the little robot’s single ‘eye’ seems to shine a bit brighter, “Home.”

* * *

He follows the little robot, or ‘Ghost’ as it calls itself, and listens to its chatter as they carefully make their way through the halls of what proves to be a massive compound. “You’re what we call a Guardian. You were chosen, by the Traveler--who’s a big, powerful ball thing--to use its power to protect others. Other people.” He spares a fleeting thought or the bodies back at the bay door, and the Ghost continues on excitedly, “From what I can tell, you’re a Hunter! Means you’re not afraid of fighting, of taking risks. I bet you’re an Arc user, that’s super cool!”

He’s starting to get his footing when they finally reach what seems to be a main hallway and he sees the little thing sag in relief, then immediately go stiff, “Shit, get to cover. Get to cover!”

It zooms past him to a couple of overturned tables and rushes _into_ him, making him yelp and pat himself down in confusion.

“Hey, chill out,” comes the slightly-smug voice of the Ghost, “I’m still here, we’re just better synced now. Safer this way. Well. Still don’t really have a weapon, but…” Somehow, he feels a presence just as his new companion does, and a something like a spark goes down his spine, “Shit. Right. There are some bad dudes coming this way, and they _will_ want to hurt you. You felt that, right?”

“Felt _what_ ,” he asks, flatly, because really, he’s feeling a lot of things right now, confusion, dread, adrenaline, electricity crackling up his spine—

“Aha, there we go. Grab onto that feeling,” the Ghost encourages him, “Yeah, exactly—”

Three figures come into focus at the end of the hall, pale green and covered in a sickly, icy sheen. All three turn at the sound of him shuffling behind the table and he and the Ghost curse in unison.

“No time to lose. Grab that Arc energy and go hit them with it! Gogogo!”

He rushes out from the table, footfalls feeling charged with every step, and rushes the first one he sees. He barely has time to reckon with how _disgusting_ the thing is before he punches it in what he figures is its face. It splatters with a rush of decaying matter and a flash of blue, crackling light. While he’s busy staring at his hands in awe and trepidation, another one of the figures takes aim at him with a gun he didn’t notice.

“Dodge!” shouts the Ghost, and he does, somehow, stepping lightly out of the line of fire and somersaulting into the personal space of Ugly Thing #2. This one gets a burst of sparks to the gut, and it tumbles over as well. The lightning chains to the last of the three things and he wastes no time in giving it two quick jabs to its head while it’s disoriented. He feels strangely floaty, but the Ghost’s voice draws him back, “Nice going! But there’s more ahead, and I still can’t find any weapons around here that we can use. Try throwing that stuff you’re working with. Arc energy can pack a real punch. 3 o’ clock!”

True to its word, 3 more figures round the corner down the hallway, and he pulls a hunk of the electric charge from…wherever it’s coming from and pitches it in their direction. There’s a bang, a flash, and 3 less figures around.

“Keep moving, c’mon, can’t stand around,” the Ghost chides him, and he dashes down the rest of the hallway, coming to a skidding halt when he rounds the corner.

This room is even larger than the lab he woke up in. It looks like a lobby of some sort, complete with a huge fountain, a reception desk, and a whole mob of those gross decay-monsters. There’s an even bigger one, with horns that scream ‘danger’, and it lets loose a blood-curdling roar when it catches sight of him.

“Oh, no,” says the Ghost before he scrambles for cover behind the fountains, projectiles bouncing around them precariously, “Shit. Still no weapons? This is a weapons factory, isn’t it? And no guns? No launchers?”

Something glints in his periphery as he tries to figure out how the hell he’s going to kill all of the monsters before they can kill him. What must’ve once been a magnificent, unnecessary plaque with a shield and a sword leans against the nearest wall, but the sword has been knocked loose, laying a scant few feet away. “Well, it’s better than nothing,” the Ghost muses as he makes a hasty dive for it.

He rushes the clump of monsters with the sword, frantically hoping it’s actually sharp and not just ornamental, cleaving through two of them before he catches a burst of heat in his left leg. “Keep moving!” the Ghost urges, and he grits his teeth through the pain, shifting his weight off the weakness and ramming the next ugly thing with his shoulder before slicing right through its midsection. The big, horned monster turns to him with its own sword in claw, and the remaining two smaller monsters rush him from either side. He takes a claw or two to the side and the sword falls from his hands with a curse.

“Shit,” he can practically hear the Ghost rattling around in his brain, “Shit, ok, you’re gonna have to reach for that lightning again, I don’t think we can take this big guy without it.”

“Trying,” he grits out, sidestepping around the smaller monsters, punching one out of commission and flailing at the other one as the horned monster approaches, menacingly, with the slowness of something that knows how scary it is.

“C’mon, Guardian, c’mon,” the Ghost shouts in his head, and he feels a jolt of white-hot pain before frustration takes over, “That’s _IT_.”

He lunges for _something_ , purely on instinct, and with a boom, a crackling staff appears in his outstretched hand. He immediately annihilates the last scrawny thing and rounds on the horned one, parrying its massive sword with an electrified slash. His veins feel like they’re buzzing, he can feel the blood rushing through him like a storm. With one last _thwack_ , he smacks the monster aside and watches as it disintegrates into flakes.

There’s a single beat of blessed silence before the Ghost starts up again, “Holy shit, I was mostly joking earlier when I said I feel like I got lucky with you but _wow_ , you’re a quick start! I bet you had combat training before, a few hundred years of death can’t get rid of muscle memory like that!”

His stomach lurches at the mention of his apparent death and slumps to the ground, mind reeling. The Ghost putters around him, scanning him and nudging him this way and that. He swats half-heartedly at it as it goes on about where they are.

“…..can’t believe you were in the Fraldarius facilities this whole time, phew. All the way out on Mars…couldn’t you have chosen an easier place to go?”

“What did you say?” he tunes back in; the name sounds familiar, though he doesn’t even know his _own_ name.

“Fraldarius….facilities? Actually, I’m not exactly sure what went on here back in the day, some sort of factory? Weapon-making, I think, but there’s a lot of conspiracy--”

“How do you know where we are?” he presses, slowly rising to his feet, feeling slightly rejuvenated by the scan.

“I mean, it’s written on the front of the building,” it makes a sound akin to a snort, “Plus, it’s on your badge.”

He grabs at the slim piece of plastic still clipped to his torn jumpsuit, and sure enough, the name ‘Felix Fraldarius’ is printed there, along with a picture of a man with dark hair and a scowl. He’s not sure what his expression is, but the Ghost nudges him towards the fountain, and he trudges down the stairs to gaze into the water still running through it.

The man in the picture looks back at him, albeit with dirt and ash all over his face. He goes about getting off what he can, if only to give himself a moment to think. “I’m Felix,” he says to the wavering image, and the Ghost chirps over his shoulder, “Sure looks like it!”

He’s urged out of the building by the Ghost and towards a ship it assures him it can fly, out in the debris that surrounds the building. “It’s definitely seen better days, but I think we can at least get back to the City before it explodes.”

That actually gets a dry, raspy chuckle out of him, and the Ghost doesn’t let him live it down the whole ride back to Earth.

His Ghost, he supposes.

“Now that we know _your_ name,” it says, watching him as he watches space go by, “What about me?”

“You don’t have a name?” he turns to look at it, incredulous, “What do people call you?”

“Ghost, usually. But that’s what all of us are called. Sometimes we choose our own names, sometimes our Guardians give us names, sometimes we even get named by Guardians who aren’t ours.”

“I just….rose from the dead,” he looks down at his own hands, “I’m not going to name you. You can name yourself.”

It gives him a _hmm_ and spins thoughtfully, shell clicking quietly, and he thinks maybe it’s sleeping before it blurts out “Épée!”

He jolts in the pilot’s seat and turns his head to look at it, just over his shoulder, and it clarifies, “Épée. For my name. It’s uh. It’s a kind of sword. Kinda fitting, considering what happened. ‘There goes Felix, and his Ghost, Épée, she’s a real go-getter!’ I don’t know…”

“It’s…good,” he replies, and then she _really_ doesn’t let him live that one down.


	2. Close Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ “Who the hell brings a sword into Crucible anymore?” he wonders aloud when Angel finishes reconstructing him, and a newly spawned teammate rushes past him, grunting, “This guy, apparently. He’s tearing us apart.” ]
> 
> Sylvain just wants to get his Crucible bounties out of the way, maybe make a 'friend' or two. Some asshole with a sword makes all of that very, very difficult.

Today is the day that his afterlife changes forever.

Sylvain, of course, doesn’t know this. What he knows is that he’s got a stack of Crucible bounties to mow through, something about ‘showing the rookies how to _really_ fight’ or whatever the Crucible handler goes on about. Lady Catherine had called in a favor, and he’s not one to turn a lovely lady down. She’s a nice enough gal and has not once _ever_ acknowledged his flirtations, but he’s got a funny feeling that her deflection has something to do with the de-facto Hunter Vanguard and…

Right. Crucible bounties.

“…and that’s all I’ve got for today, Hunter. Now get in there!” She punctuates her words with a hearty slap to his arm, and he’s very aware of how it stings despite his armor. He laughs it off with a “Sure, Catherine,” and waves to her over his shoulder. She goes back to watching the feed with vigor, veritably shouting over the comms as some guy goes on a streak, “Hunter! You’re destroying them!” He has a fleeting thought that he hopes he doesn’t get matched against whoever _that_ is and his thoughts drift elsewhere as he strides to where his ship hovers nearby. His Ghost, Angel, pops into existence as they transmat into the ship, “Sheesh, more bounties? Guess we’re keeping busy.”

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’ in that way he knows drives her just a little nuts, “What’s the thing Alois says? ‘Vigilance’, or whatever?”

“I fail to see how doing Crucible bounties is the same as vigilance but,” she wiggles at him in her approximation of shaking her head, “Busy is better than mopey, I guess.”

“Hey!” He’s halfway through taking off his helmet, and he shoots her a look, the look he gives her when she’s saying something that’s true that he doesn’t like, “I wasn’t being _mopey_.”

“Suuure,” she placates him, puttering up to rest in the cabin, “Definitely not moping about that last dude who turned you down. What’s his name? Uh, Claw? Khalid?”

“Claude,” he corrects her, sending the ship into Earth’s orbit. The Tower courtyard fades into muddled shapes quickly beneath them, “And he didn’t turn me down, we reached a…mutual agreement. He’s real busy with all that faction stuff he’s got going on.”

“Busy, right,” she shutters her optics, tucked snugly into her favorite little spot on the dashboard, “Just like we are right now. Poke me when we get into a match.”

* * *

They’ve gotten through a few pretty solid matches by the time it happens. He’s testing out a new hand cannon courtesy of his friends from the Blue Lions, and while he’s not exactly a Crucible pro, he’s holding his own. That is, until _he_ shows up.

He gets slapped into a match already in progress with a muffled apology from one of Catherine’s frames, and when he spawns in, he immediately gets snagged in an Arc web. He barely has time to sigh before he’s waiting to be brought back by Angel. When he spawns again, he does a quick sweep before heading towards the sound of the fighting, but he barely takes three steps before he gets side-swept by a lightning charged fist. Disoriented, he doesn’t have time to reach for his fun new hand cannon before the Arc user finishes him off with a quick sidearm two-tap.

When he lands _again_ , he stands there for a moment, gun at the ready, listening for footfalls. When he’s absolutely _positive_ the coast is clear, he makes a mad dash for the nearest choke—only to get sliced up by a _sword_ of all things.

“Who the hell brings a sword into Crucible anymore?” he wonders aloud when Angel finishes reconstructing him, and a newly spawned teammate rushes past him, grunting, “This guy, apparently. He’s tearing us apart.”

Sylvain manages to eventually land a few kills, but for every point he captures, for every headshot he lands, there’s an Arc-charged Hunter right behind him, ready to end him. He starts getting the feeling he’s getting singled out, and the next time he spawns (Arc staff to the leg, not a great way to go), he waits around a corner, waiting. Sure enough, the guy’s still got his staff out, and when he rushes around the corner, searching for his next prey, Sylvain sticks his foot out and trips him.

The guy has enough wits about him still to grab at his leg, and they both go down, the other Hunter landing heavily onto his chest. While he’s winded, the guy takes the opportunity to go straight for his visor, a sparking fist going straight for his face. He just barely manages to turn his head, so the fist gets the more armored part of his helmet and he rasps out, “What the hell is your problem?!”

“I don’t have a problem,” the Hunter replies, not sounding the slightest bit out of breath as he reaches for his sidearm. Sylvain makes a hasty grab for his wrist and the other guy twists his hand around in a way that makes him yelp in pain, “ _You_ have a problem. You suck at fighting.”

He’s just a bit offended, honestly, and he can hear Angel laughing at him in his head, “Hey, _pal_ , not all of us live and breath Crucible like you do,” he eyes the Crucible icon emblazoned on the guy’s chest piece for only a moment before the dude’s got his neck in a chokehold. He can’t hold for long, though, when Sylvain bucks his weight to the side and rolls them over with a considerable amount of effort and concentrated Solar energy in his palms. He seems to be stronger and heavier than this guy, though, so he presses the advantage, pinning him to the ground with a knee on his back, gathering the fabric of his stupid cloak.

“Nobody’s going to learn anything from fighting you here,” taunts the Arc-user, “Do you practice fighting at all, or do you show up to strikes like this?” He’d sound smug, almost, if not for the strained edge to his voice, struggling against Sylvain’s bulk. He’s about to retort when he hears a shriek and an arrow lodges in his side. The Hunter takes the opportunity to shove an aghast Sylvain aside and he immediately lines up his sidearm to Sylvain’s forehead, “Anything else to say, smartass?”

The bow user who just shot him comes around the far corner, far more cautiously than her teammate, and Sylvain just looks up at the Arc user, hoping he can feel the weight of his glare behind his visor. Catherine starts counting down in his ear, and he realizes with a start that while he’s got a third of the enemy team occupied here, his team has managed to take control of all three points. He prays to the Traveler that they can tell where he is in this long mossy hallway and takes his chances.  
  


“Yeah, got a question for you,” he can practically see the cogs turning in the guys head, so he presses, “Doing anything after this?” When the other doesn’t say anything in reply, he continues, turning up the charm, “How about I buy you something to eat after all this, and you tell me _all_ about how Crucible _really_ works?”

The guy makes a sound like he just choked on his spit, and Sylvain smirks. The sidearm stays firmly aimed at his beautiful, beautiful face though, so he makes no noise. “Is this what you come into Crucible to do? Fight dirty and hit on people who beat the shit out of you? What kind of sicko are you?”

He weighs his options. He can just barely hear heavy footfalls coming from the opposite direction, which means at least one of his Titan teammates is on the way, and usually where one Titan goes, others follow. He clutches at the arrow in his side and slowly stands back up, noting with no little amount of satisfaction that he’s a good bit taller than the other Hunter. “Oh, babe” he sighs with all the drama of Golden Age soap opera, and the Hunter raises the gun, “Fighting’s not the only _dirty_ thing I can do.”

The dude straight up smacks him with the solid end of his gun, but he can tell even while his vision’s swimming that his teammates have arrived by the shriek of the bow-user down the way as she beats a hasty retreat. He sits up quick enough to see the Arc user get blown to smithereens by a Void Warlock and he laughs to himself as the other Warlock on his team lays down a healing rift right next to him. It’s a moot point, though, because Catherine’s already halfway through her end-of-match countdown, and his teammates all cheer and goof off when she shouts their victory. Angel lets him know that, _thank the fucking Traveler_ , he’s done with all his bounties, so he bids farewell to his team and transmats out of the arena and back into his ship, plotting a direct course back to the Tower.

“Geez,” he gets his helmet off first thing so he can rub his temples, letting his head loll against the headrest of his seat, “I really, _really_ hope we never run into that guy again. Fuckin’ edgelord…”

Angel laughs at him, “You’re just mad because he was kicking your ass. Maybe you should train against Guardians like that more often. Could be a good learning experience.”

He gags in a way that makes them both snort, “ _Hell_ no, Ang. I could go the rest of my existence without seeing that bastard, and I’d be happier for it.”

* * *

The universe, of course, has other plans.

He whistles a little tune he’d picked up at the little hole-in-the-wall taco place down the way as he strolls right up to Catherine’s set-up, but she’s already talking to someone. He gets his helmet off and leans against the wall nearby, trying not to eavesdrop too much, but she’s _really_ going at it with this Guardian.

“Great as always, Felix! You really showed some of those kids the way to fight! We’ll have to do some one-on-one sometime, hard to find anyone else nowadays that prefers swords to grenade launchers—”

“I’ll pass,” comes the flat response, and that gets Sylvain to stand up a little straighter. Angel bursts into laughter in his helmet, probably at the look on his face, and he watches as the bastard of an Arcstrider from earlier turns around. He instantly recognizes him, if the rigidness in his posture is any indication, but doesn’t say anything. Sylvain can see his own reflection in the guy’s visor, and when the guy shifts his weight, clearly a little uncomfortable, he opens his big, stupid mouth, “So, about that food…”

It’s hard to read this ‘Felix’ guy without being able to see his face, all the usual tells he picks up hidden by stiff posture, but there’s a beat of silence where Sylvain is _sure_ the Hunter’s going to deck him again. He’s somewhat pleasantly surprised when the dude shrugs, turning and starting to walk away, “Fine. But you’re paying.”

When Sylvain doesn’t immediately follow him—because he’s honestly shocked, that approach _never_ works for him anymore—he calls over his shoulder, “Or not, I’ll just go eat by myself and you can stand there looking foolish.”

Catherine smothers a laugh into her fist from down the way, and, undeterred, he rushes after him.

* * *

Felix leads him to what he thinks is a Thai place, and he can smell the cumin and galangal from about two blocks away. Someone behind the counter greets them when they walk in, seemingly acquainted with the Arcstrider. Felix leads them to one of three booths against the near wall and they settle across from each other. He immediately launches into a diatribe on close quarters combat that Sylvain honestly struggles to keep up with, especially with the guy’s helmet still on. Sylvain taps the side of his own head, and he seems to get it, reaching up to unlatch his helmet and practically throwing it onto the bench beside him. He goes right back to pantomiming how to properly twist someone’s wrist to get them to drop a gun, but now Sylvain can’t focus at _all_ because this guy is stupidly, unfairly _pretty_.

He’s got longish, almost-black hair, all mussed up from being trapped. His eyes are just this side of amber, and they’re framed by long lashes, something Sylvain notes dimly he never notices on other people he’s, uh, approached. He can tell he’s been caught staring at the same time Felix stops talking, narrowing his eyes at Sylvain, “What? Something on my face?”

“Wha--? Oh, no, haha,” he tries to laugh it off, switching gears, “You just looked so into what you were talking about, the punching, and stuff.”

The person from behind the counter sets two bowls of what looks like a noodle dish in front of them and nods at them briskly, but Felix is unflinching, breaking his chopsticks cleanly and still staring him down, “You could stand to pay more attention to what I’m saying.”

Ouch, right in the gut. He copies Felix and goes in for a bite to get his eyes off that damnable face, “Er, sorry. It’s always hard for me to concentrate when I’m dining with such great company.”

Felix eyes him like he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, which is fair, but he lets it pass without further comment, choosing to dig into his noodles with impressive gusto. It’s pretty good, honestly; a little hotter than Sylvain usually dares to go, but hey, he’ll try anything once. He’s also _definitely_ not tearing up a little.

“This is my favorite place around here,” Felix says, and when Sylvain looks up, he’s somehow already done, “It’s quiet enough that I can refocus after Crucible, but not quiet enough that I’ll feel awkward coming alone.”

Sylvain’s stupid coping mechanism kicks in, “Oh? I mean, you came here with me this time.”

“Yeah, cause I feel like you would’ve chased me down if I said no,” Felix snorts at him, crossing his arms and looking out the window; Sylvain gets the feeling the guy isn’t too fond of eye contact and makes a mental note—wait, since when does he take mental notes about people he doesn’t plan on getting with? Clearly, the guy’s attractive enough, but—

“I mean, you’re probably right,” Sylvain laughs to cover his discomfort, but Felix’s side-eye gives him the impression that he’s not convinced, “But hey, if you ever feel like you’d like to come here _not_ by yourself…”

Felix stands abruptly, grabbing his helmet and snapping it back on, “I’m leaving.” Sylvain doesn’t even have time to protest before he reaches the door to the place, but before he leaves, the Arcstrider nods in his direction, “…Thanks for the food.”

And he’s gone.

Sylvain, of course, dutifully pays the bill, _and_ leaves a generous tip because he’s a decent guy, usually. By the time he leaves, the Thai place’s bell tinkling behind him, the sun has nearly set. There are still people out and about, but most people are heading home for the evening, and with a takeout bag in hand, Sylvain follows their lead. Angel teases him relentlessly on the way back to his little Vanguard-certified apartment, but he can’t muster the usual wit he responds with. She pops into the room as he gets the food in the fridge, nudging his arm in a teasing fashion, “Wow, you sure got over that Clyde guy real quick. Felix, huh…”

“Claude,” he corrects her, again, “And really, Ang, it’s nothing. Probably never gonna see him again, either, and for the record, I’m still okay with that.” He heads to his bedroom, Angel blessedly transmats his armor off, and he grabs his holopad, pulling up the newest article from that one Thanatonaut he’s been following. Angel is, as always, persistent, “Just ‘okay’ with that? Earlier, you said you’d be _happy_ if you didn’t see him, and then you saw him, and your entire conscious lit up like a neon sign—”

“Just drop it,” his voice comes out a little harsher than he’d intended, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again, “Sorry, Angel. Today was a long day, huh? Let’s just take it easy.”

“Sure thing,” she agrees readily enough, but she knows him forwards and backwards, and vice versa, so he knows that’s definitely not the end of _that_ conversation.

It sure doesn’t help that his last, wispy thoughts before he drifts off are of tangled, inky hair and rust eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, for the folks who don't care much about Destiny:  
> Guardians (almost) all have Ghosts, who can heal and revive them if they fall in combat or otherwise. Sylvain's is named Angel because when he was woken up by her, he deliriously hit on who he thought was a pretty lady and not a helpful, if not sassy, personal drone. Ghosts have the best personal insight into their own Guardians, usually, because they spend all their time together. It's not uncommon for longtime Ghosts-and-Guardians to know exactly what the other is thinking at any given time.  
> Crucible is a PvP game mode with a variety of game types i.e. point control, 'just get kills', etc. Felix would probably drop dead (again) if he didn't get to fight someone everyday, and nothing is more of a challenge than other Guardians, in his opinion. He definitely has (and wears) all the Crucible armor. Catherine is the Crucible handler, meaning she oversees all the matches and rewards and whatnot.  
> Hunters, Titans, and Warlocks are the 3 classes in Destiny, and each of those has multiple subclasses associated with an element (Arc, Solar, and Void). Very simply, Hunters are usually very fast and clever, Titans can take a hit and shield themselves and allies, and Warlocks have the best health regen and are often more studiously inclined. This is all very generalized, though.  
> Thanatonauts are a group of Warlocks who repeatedly 'die' on purpose and have their Ghosts revive them so they can experience visions. Sylvain, despite his affable outward personality, likes to do some 'light' (heavy) reading before bedtime.  
> Feel free to ask if anything else is unclear!


End file.
